All Over Again
by Fantasia-the-Crazy
Summary: Sequel to my first fanfic, Three Little Words. Rules are broken, boundaries are ignored, and decisions are made. Full summary inside. T for sexual references, adult situations, and language. **DISCONTINUED**
1. News

**Full summary: When Plato moves away with his humans, Victoria starts making advancements towards Mistoffelees. Misto has found his true love in Jemima and now has to cope with the hassle of first-time parenthood, but will the tuxedo tom's old affections be rekindled? In this darker, angstier sequel to my original fluffy one-shot, rules are broken and boundaries are ignored, and before long, Misto will be forced into the toughest decision of his life.**

**NOTE: This is the sequel to my first fanfiction, Can A Broken Heart Still Race?. Not sure how to post links in Word, so if you want to see it go to my profile. I am probably going to rewrite it now that I have this, but you're probably tired of my rambling by now. Enjoy Chapter 1!**

* * * * * * * * * *

"You're WHAT?"

The queen gave a sly little grin. "You heard me."

The tom's dark brown eyes were stretched wide, his thick black eyebrows raised high. His mouth hung open in surprise. "But . . . but Jemima, how? _How_ can you be pregnant?"

The queen cocked an eyebrow, the grin still present. "Do you really want me to explain, Misto? Come on, you were there, weren't you?"

This time, Misto smiled too. "Nah, that was Quaxo." He gave a short laugh, but then the smile dropped again. He sighed. "Okay, I know _how_. It's just that . . ." The sentence didn't have an end; his eyes gazed past Jemima's shoulder, not focusing on anything in particular.

"Just that what?" Jemima prompted, getting slightly concerned. The grin left her face too as she took a couple steps toward him.

Her voice seemed to bring Misto back. He looked down at her – she was one of the few cats in the Jellicle Junkyard that was shorter than him. "But . . . you're . . . you're so _young_," he said softly. "And _I'm_ so young! And you . . . we're . . ."

"Victoria's younger than you," Jemima pointed out, "and Jellylorum says she's due any day now."

"And you're younger than Victoria," Misto countered. He sighed, his eyes dropping to the ground.

Jemima looked away. "I thought you'd be happy," she confessed in a quiet mew.

The tuxedo tom stalked up to her, sliding an arm around her waist. "I _am_ happy," he gently affirmed. "I'm sure our kits will be the best in the world. But I just don't think we're . . . _ready_ for parenthood."

"I love you," Jemima reminded him. "And I know that together, we can make it through this." She grasped his free paw in both of her own, and her light brown eyes met his dark ones. They shared a quick kiss before retreating to the den that they now shared; there had been more than enough abnormality for one day.

* * * * *

The next morning, Misto awoke early. He blinked open his eyes, adjusting them to the pre-dawn light. Summer was fast approaching, so it never stayed dark for very long. He yawned and stretched, then rolled over to face the still-sleeping figure of Jemima lying beside him, holding himself up on one elbow. He studied her for a long moment. She was the youngest cat in the junkyard – scarcely out of kittenhood. Misto found it quite hard to believe that that one special night only a week ago had resulted in . . .

He sighed quietly as he remembered that night, his gaze shifting to the distance, where a few other cats were beginning to move about. It was one of the best nights of his life. He wasn't sure what it was – maybe it was the full moon, or it could've just been the stereotypical springtime mood – but there had been a strange feeling in the air that night, and Misto's self-control decided to take a vacation on him. He had known the consequences, of course, but Jemima was so lovely and beautiful, and he loved her so much, and it had felt so right . . . a shudder passed through him as he recalled the feeling. It was unlike anything he had felt before. It was . . . well, it was wonderful. He had been afraid at first of hurting her, but she had been willing, and before he had known it, he'd wanted to keep going, never to stop, forever and ever and ever. He didn't care how tiring it was, all that had mattered to him was that it was the best feeling in the entire world . . . Jemima had failed to tell him, however, that she was in heat. Or maybe she'd just forgotten. Either way, there was no going back now. Already, the delicate beginnings of life were unfurling inside Jemima's petite, slender body.

Movement beside him brought Misto's attention back to the queen, who was beginning to stir. He felt a warm smile spread across his face as she yawned, eyes still closed, and stretched, then finally blinked open her eyes and focused them on him.

"Good morning, Little Dove," he purred softly, addressing her by the meaning of her name.

"G'morning," she drawled sleepily, grinning back.

He leaned closer towards her. "I was getting lonely while you were sleeping."

Her grin gained a naughty edge. "Well, let's see if we can fix that." She leaned towards him in response, and their lips met.

In the moment Jemima's lips touched his, a surge of emotion jolted through Misto: the same jolt he got every time they kissed. He knew he should be getting used to it by now, but each time reminded him of their very first kiss, and it was like he was falling in love all over again. He liked that feeling. In attempt to prolong it, he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed, pulling her in close. At the same time, he began moving his mouth to pry hers open. She accepted, and their tongues played with each other. One of her paws then began pressing on his back as she half-copied his movements; he felt her other begin fiddling with his chest fur. He broke the kiss just long enough to say, "Yes, this seems to be helping."

Jemima giggled, her paw resting on his white "bib". "You little rascal, I can feel you purring."

He grinned seductively and forced his purr to grow louder until his entire body was practically trembling. They both launched into another kiss, and didn't break apart again for several minutes.

A short while later, Misto lay on his back, one paw behind his head. Jemima lay with her head on his chest, listening to his strong, steady heartbeat undertoned by his softly thrumming purr. His other paw rested on her back, gently stroking her beautiful fur. They both lay like that, neither of them saying a word, just merely relaxing, savoring the tender love shared between them. There had been a time when Misto longed to be in this position with Victoria, but it was times like these that made him wonder what he'd ever seen in her in the first place; he hardly ever even thought about her anymore. All that he cared about now was that he had a mate – he assumed that Jemima's pregnancy confirmed that – who he could be sure would always love him back and never leave his side, one who he knew would always be faithful and would never betray him. His eyes narrowed to contented slits and his purr increased a tone as he reflected on that.

Suddenly, Jemima, without warning, surged up like a spring from her horizontal position and hurtled towards a far corner of their den, a paw covering her mouth. In the same instant, a startled Misto jumped in surprise and heaved himself into a half-upright position, propping himself up on his elbows. He gazed after her curiously, but the curiosity turned to concern when he saw her snatch a nearby tin can, drop to her knees, and vomit in it, hacking like she was about to spit up a hairball. He made a disgusted face, but kept his eyes glued to her worriedly. A few moments later, the hacking subsided to a dry cough, and the young queen gasped for breath. Once she had regained a steady oxygen flow, she pushed the can out of the way and shakily proceeded to stand erect, taking a couple heartbeats to find her balance. Finally, she turned and padded back to Misto.

"Blech," she spat, letting her tongue hang out for emphasis. "_That's_ going to get old fast."

Misto, still resting on his elbows, was genuinely bewildered. He finally dragged himself into a sitting position as he tried to compose a question. "Er . . . wha . . . why did . . . what was . . ."

"I can explain later," she spared him. "For now –" she beckoned with a paw – "come on."

"C-come on?" He blinked. "Come on where?"

She stooped down, grabbed his paw in hers, gave a commanding jerk, and stepped out to face the day without another word.

Paw in paw, Jemima and Mistoffelees walked slowly across the junkyard, enjoying the mild, sunny morning. The latter, however, still didn't have a clue where they were headed. Hoping Jemima would give him a clear answer this time, he asked her, "So where are we going?"

"To see Jellylorum," she answered merrily, adding a little bounce to her walk. "She wants me to check in with her every few days, just to make sure everything's all right."

Misto nodded slowly, but then further inquired, "Okay, but why all the secrecy? Why all the, 'I'll explain later' business?"

She shrugged. "Impulse, that's all."

He stopped walking and turned to face her, taking her free paw in his. "All right, then, gimme a kiss." He puckered up his lips exaggeratedly.

Jemima cocked her head to one side. "Why?"

A smile broke across his face. "Impulse!"

She blinked, then smiled in response. "Oh, you romantic devil." They then proceeded to follow his suggestion.

It was a quick gesture, nothing like their session a few minutes ago, but it seemed to be enough to satisfy Misto's little "impulse". When they broke off, he whispered, "Thank you."

"You know you're welcome," she returned.

Just then, however, both cats snapped their heads around at the same time. Alonzo was staring at them. The expression on Jemima's former boyfriend's face was hard and unreadable, but Misto got the feeling it wasn't intended to be friendly. He scooted away from Jemima slightly, but remained holding her one paw. Alonzo's icy blue gaze flitted from Jemima to Misto to Jemima again. He at last looked at Misto once more, and gave a cold nod of greeting before turning pointedly and leaving without a word.

Misto returned the gesture awkwardly as the spotted tom stalked away. Jemima was staring after him, her gaze clouded over.

"He really needs to get over you," he commented thoughtfully.

Jemima nodded, and they resumed walking. Misto noticed that her paw was squeezing his harder than before.

"You haven't told him yet, have you?" he murmured.

She shook her head. "You were the first one to know, besides Jelly." A tiny smile finally managed to find its way onto her face. "I figured you were entitled, as the father."

Misto grinned at that, once again remembering that one special night . . .

"Besides," the queen continued in a more serious tone, "don't you remember how you reacted when you found out Victoria was expecting Plato's kittens?"

"All too clearly," he growled between clenched teeth, shuddering as images of his lightning striking everything in sight flashed across his mind.

"Now, Alonzo . . . well, he's not like you, you see . . ."

"Yes," Misto concurred. "He doesn't have powers to take out his aggression with."

"And he just naturally has a more . . . physical way of dealing with things," Jemima chipped in.

"Not to mention he's about twenty times stronger than me."

" . . . And has an even dirtier mouth," she added, remembering some of the words that had been flying from the tuxedo tom on the mentioned occasion. "I have to break it to him gently, or else there's going to be a massacre."

By this time, they were standing beside the abandoned car that served as a hospital. They were greeted with the friendly voice of Jellylorum.  
"Ah, there she is!" the elderly queen proclaimed, referring to Jemima in the third person as she emerged around the other side of the car. Noticing the figure who stood at her side, holding her paw, she extended her greeting: "And a very warm welcome to the daddy."

Misto ducked his head shyly, trying to hide his reddening cheeks.

"Oh, now, don't be embarrassed," she coaxed reassuringly. "I was young and foolish like that once too. Come on in; this won't take a minute." She led them in through the trunk of the car.

"So is this the couple I keep hearing about?" inquired a new voice once they were inside. Misto looked around for the source, nearly giving a start when his eyes landed on Victoria, who lay upon a comfortable-looking bed. Except . . . she didn't look like Victoria. She was enormous. It was unnatural to see slender, graceful Victoria this big; she looked as though she might go into labor at any moment.

"Indeed it is, Lady Victoria," Jellylorum answered. "Don't they make such a lovely pair?"

Victoria nodded. "I'd heard about Jemima's little . . . situation from Jelly," she told the arrivals, "but she never told me that the father was . . ." she trailed off, but then shook her head. "Congratulations," she purred good-naturedly, locking eyes with Misto.

"Thanks," he mumbled, trying not to blush again.

The white queen smiled slyly. "I knew you'd let me go eventually, Misto, but I had no idea you were so . . . ambitious."

He could feel his face growing hot; he looked away in embarrassment.

"Misto . . ." Jemima's voice said gently. "Misto, you can stop squeezing my paw now."

"Wha?" He looked down, and only then did he realize how tightly his paw was gripping hers. "Oh, whoops . . . sorry," he apologized awkwardly as he released her. The queens all laughed gently. Victoria's laugh, however, ended in an "Oh!" followed by a low moan as she clutched her swollen belly.

"Everything all right?" Jellylorum asked. "Is it kicking again?"

Victoria gave an unenthusiastic nod.

"Turning out to be a strong little thing," the older queen commented. "Just like his father was in the womb." She had reason to understand that, for she was Plato's mother. "Well, I assume it'll be a he, anyway. Gracious me, I've never seen any kitten pound around so much!" She finally turned to the youngest queen. "So, Miss Jemima, how are you feeling?" She was always so polite and formal with the younger queens.

Misto padded over and sat down, leaning against the side of the car as Jemima answered lightly, "I'm feeling fine, Jelly."

"Experienced any morning sickness yet?"

She nodded distastefully, wrinkling up her nose.

"You'll get used to it," Victoria sighed, Jellylorum nodding in agreement.

The check-up continued in a similar manner for a few more minutes, Jemima always insisting that she felt perfectly well. Jellylorum finally concluded by gently resting a paw on Jemima's belly. For a few moments, there was absolute silence, but then a smile slowly began to spread across her face. She took Jemima's paw and put it where hers was. "Wait a moment."

Soon Jemima smiled too, in awe and wonder. "Oh! Oh wow! That's – oh, it's incredible!" She turned to face Misto, grinning hugely, beckoning him over with her other paw. He rose and padded over curiously.

She grabbed his paw a little more enthusiastically than was entirely necessary and laid it on her belly, next to her own. "Don't you feel it?"

For a moment, Misto had no idea what was supposed to be happening. But then . . . very faintly, but definitely there . . . there was movement. Small movement, yes, but distinct. The kittens – Jemima's kittens, _his_ kittens – were already beginning to move about. He felt a tender, loving, amazed grin swell across his face, at a complete loss for words. "Wow," he finally managed in a whisper, his other paw finding its way around her shoulders.

"Oh, how precious," Jellylorum cooed at the sight of the two lovers.

Jemima began to lean towards him suggestively. Misto's face began to flush a third time as he realized her intentions; he didn't feel entirely comfortable making a public display of affection when he knew Jellylorum and, more to the point, Victoria were watching him – he could feel their anticipative eyes burning into his pelt. But he knew he couldn't refuse the offer, and it was the best way he could think of to broadcast the whirlwind of emotions going on inside him. Slowly, he removed his paw from her stomach and wrapped it around her; she did the same. Mere inches apart, they looked at each other for one moment more, then both leaned in close and met halfway in a tender kiss. Misto's self-consciousness suddenly faded like dew in the sunlight, even with the adoring "aww"s issuing from the onlookers. Jemima was the one he loved, and he didn't care who knew it. Besides, he told himself, he didn't feel for Victoria the way he once had; that was ancient history now.

Wasn't it?


	2. Blessings

**Sorry this chapter isn't as long as the first one. I always try to make them nice and lengthy for you, but that doesn't always work out. Anyway, enjoy!**

* * * * * * * * * *

That night, Misto slept fitfully, haunted by a dream: Jemima lay in labor, wailing in agony as the kitten was born. But, strangely, he felt no emotion whatsoever. Instead, he felt oddly detached, as if this were something that ought to affect him, but it didn't. Then, just as the kitten was about to emerge, a flurry of white engulfed the scene, shrouding out the image of the birth. But Misto didn't try to fight against it; instead, he just let it sweep him away, all thoughts of his mate and child vanishing . . .

And then an ear-splitting, blood-curdling scream sliced through the night air.

"HOLY HELL!" Misto yelled, jumping nearly twice his height in the air as he was jolted out of his dream. Once he touched the ground again, he began looking around wildly.

Jemima was already awake and standing up. "The kittens are coming!" she told him urgently.

"Kittens?" he repeated stupidly, still mostly asleep. He eyed Jemima suspiciously; her belly had hardly begun to swell.

She smacked her forehead with a paw. "_Victoria's_ kittens, you idiot," she hissed.

He looked slightly offended at the comment. "I love you too, honey," he mumbled quietly.

Jemima rolled her eyes. "C'mon, let's go!" She turned and made to head out of the den.

"Wh– go? Go where?" he interrupted her.

"To see the kitten!" With that, she headed off in the direction of the abandoned car, leaving Misto to follow. He heaved himself to his paws and stumbled after her.

There was a crowd of cats already in the car, all wanting to see the new arrival. Misto squeezed his way in, and quickly sought out Jemima, who was fighting for space towards the side. He made his way over to her, accidentally elbowing Alonzo in the ribs in the process. Seeing the glare he gave him, he gave up on the conventional method and vanished, reappearing next to Jemima with a small _poof_. Feeling slightly intimidated, he grasped one of her paws for comfort, trying to focus more on what he'd come for. The next thing he laid his eyes upon made his jaw drop: there was Victoria; holding her paw was Plato; and there in the curve of her belly was the tiniest kitten he had ever seen. He suddenly realized he'd never seen a newborn before.

"Isn't it precious?" Jemima whispered.

He nodded, feeling a grin spread across his face. As several cats exited, deciding they'd seen enough, he felt his paw subconsciously drop down to Jemima's belly, but then discovered that her paw was already there. They looked at each other and smiled tenderly, then began to lean in . . .

"You can come closer, he doesn't bite."

They both started at the voice, then realized Victoria was inviting them to get a closer look. The car was now a lot emptier, giving everyone more room to breathe. The white queen giggled as the couple took a few awkward moments to progress towards her. Casting a quick look around, Misto saw that Alonzo had left. He let out a breath, relieved.

The kitten was a tom, and looked very much like his father: white, with rusty red splotches. There was a patch over his right eye, and his headfur was almost entirely that same rusty color, with some black and white streaks running through it. There were thin stripes down the length of his arms, and thicker ones on his legs. The rest of his body was just covered in random splotches. His tail was a jumbled mix of rusty red and white, and his eyes were tightly closed. He let out a little mew; Victoria stroked him gently.

"His name's Theseus," Plato beamed. "You know, in keeping with the whole Greek thing."

"He's adorable," Jemima breathed.

Misto nodded his concurrence. "Congrats," he murmured.

Plato turned a thoughtful gaze on Jemima. "So, from what I understand, this bed will be yours in a couple months, huh?"

Misto ducked his head awkwardly. Apparently this was big news. He gave a tiny nod as Jemima let a quiet "Yes" slip out.

Victoria opened her mouth to interject, but at that moment Jellylorum came in. "I think we should leave this new family alone now," she suggested to the remaining cats.

Most of them had already left, but the others obediently followed the elderly queen's word, Misto and Jemima filing out last. The former shot one final quick glance back at the new parents, and caught a glimpse of them locked in a tender embrace: Victoria's one paw cupped around the kitten, and the other grasped in-between Plato's as they shared a loving kiss. Although he quickly looked away out of respect for their privacy, the sight still triggered a strange jolt to tear through him, a jolt of some unidentifiable emotion. It was something he had felt before, that much he knew; but try as he might, he couldn't put a name to it. Shrugging it off, he proceeded back to his den with Jemima at his side, hoping for uninterrupted sleep until the morning.

* * * * *

By the time daylight struck the junkyard, however, it didn't provide much of a sanctuary. It was becoming quite apparent that news of the two young cats' soon-to-be parenthood was spreading like wildfire. Lots of Jellicles kept casting strange glances in their direction when they happened to walk by; apparently Plato and Victoria hadn't quite grasped the concept of preferred secrecy. Misto was more worried about some cats finding out than others, though. Thankfully, the news seemed not to have reached Alonzo, but what of his and Jemima's families?

Around mid-morning, the two sat quietly talking. Misto was leaning against an old pillow; Jemima sat next to him so that their pelts touched. Their tails were twined together, and her head was resting on Misto's shoulder. As she talked, she gently stroked his chest fur; his arm was around her waist. Neither of them was expecting the visitors who decided to stop by.

"Anybody home?" called a motherly voice.

They were both taken by surprise, but Jemima jumped and sat up straight, detaching herself from her tuxedo-patterned lover. The voice belonged to her mother.

"Yes, come in," she called back.

An elderly tabby queen with tiger stripes and leopard spots proceeded to enter, an orange tabby tom at her side. They were Jennyanydots and Skimbleshanks, Jemima's parents.

"Mom, Dad, hi." She was obviously trying not to sound anxious.

"Hello, dear," Jenny answered. "Just thought we'd drop in for a visit."

Jemima nodded uncertainly. There was a moment of silence, but then she let it out: "You've heard, haven't you?" It was more a statement than a question, and as she spoke she winced slightly, as if scared of her own words.

The older couple looked at each other for a moment, then nodded almost guiltily. "Aye, lassie," Skimbleshanks murmured. "We know."

Jemima's gaze dropped to the ground in front of her. Misto tried to imagine how awkward it must be to converse with one's own parents on a subject as delicate as this. His eyes flicked up to them apprehensively. Would they approve of their daughter's choice? Skimble seemed to like him, but those things had a tendency to change once partnership entered the picture.

The Railway Cat sighed. "Looks like our little girl is growing up." He tussled her headfur affectionately. "Congratulations, Jemmy."

She gave a little grin; Misto could tell she had been worrying too. "Thanks, Dad."

"It's so hard to believe," Jenny said softly, slowly shaking her head. "We thought the day would never come. But . . . here it is." She sighed gently. "We're sure you'll do fine, dearie." She turned to Misto; his pulse quickened slightly in worry. There was a moment in which nothing was said. She blinked, then the words finally came out. "Mister Mistoffelees . . . you're a fine young cat. You have a good head on your shoulders, and you act with wisdom beyond your years. We couldn't have asked for a better tom to be by our daughter's side, and I'd be honored to call you my son-in-law." She smiled warmly. "I know you'll make a wonderful father."

Misto blinked a couple times as the words sunk in, smiling in spite of himself.

"Aye," Skimble chipped in quietly. "Be good to her, lad."

He nodded. "Yes, I will. Thank you both so much."

They both returned the words by smiling and nodding acceptingly. Finally, Skimble told them, "We have to go soon. The train leaves in a wee bit."

Jenny looked back at her daughter and spread her arms out wide. Accepting the invitation, Jemima stood and hugged her mother lovingly, then did the same with Skimble.

"You'll always be our sweet little kitten," Jenny reminded her as they headed out, her eyes shining.

Once they were out of earshot, Misto rose to his paws and made his way over to her side. "They took that better than I thought," he murmured.

She turned to him and grinned. "I'm just so glad they approve of you. I don't know what I'd do if they didn't."

He showed his acquiescence in the form of a purr. "I love you, and there's nothing anyone can do to change that."

She brushed her head against his shoulder. "I love you too."

He gently rubbed her belly. "For the kitten's sake, I hope so." He leaned down towards her and closed his eyes.

She sighed, giving a roll of her own eyes. "Why didn't I see _this_ coming?" Misto knew she was joking, though, and soon felt her lips press against his own.

They were only able to remain like that for a moment, however, before they received _another_ unexpected guest.

"Misto?" came the new visitor's voice.

The young lovers broke apart, startled. "Dammit," Misto muttered, both out of frustration and embarrassment – it was his mother. He looked up, trying to appear as if nothing had happened, but the look on the gold and black queen's face told him she'd seen it all.

"Hi, Mom," he squeaked uneasily after a short moment of silence.

"Hello, Misto," Demeter returned slowly. " . . . And Jemima." She looked at them rather oddly, and Misto realized his paws were still resting on Jemima's waist. Silently cursing himself and turning bright red, he dropped them to his sides.

"You can come in," he mumbled.

Demeter nodded a little awkwardly, but accepted the invitation and stepped forward.

"So . . . what brings you here?" he asked stupidly. _Like I don't already know._

She paused, as if debating whether or not to speak. "Munkustrap told me," she finally informed them.

Misto and Jemima looked at each other, then back at Demeter. "He told you right," Jemima admitted.

Demeter sighed acceptingly, yet wistfully. "I'd love to give you some advice on parenthood, but I'm afraid I can't. I'm not quite sure what it feels like to raise a kitten from the beginning, or what it feels like to have the father at your side." They all knew she was reflecting on her own son's less-than-standard upbringing: she had only been taking care of him since he was four months old. Before that, he had been raised by his father. "Everything I did was on instinct – I'm still not sure what I did or how I did it."

"Well, whatever you did," Jemima purred, "you did it right." She brushed her cheek against Misto's.

He nearly choked trying to hold back a purr of his own; eventually he gave up and let the thrumming vibrations fill his chest.

Demeter smiled. "Oh, that's sweet." To Misto's relief, she didn't seem to have a problem with his choice of a mate either. However, his purr died down as he saw her staring off into space, looking troubled.

"What's wrong?" he asked, suddenly concerned.

"I wonder how Macavity would react to this," she murmured quietly.

A shudder traveled up and down his spine. "Mom, don't mention Dad right now," he gently requested.

She shook her head to clear it, her attention returning to the couple. "Well, good luck and congratulations," she concluded. She kissed Misto's forehead and left the lovers in peace at last. Everything seemed to be going all right for them so far, but they had no idea that their love's journey had only just begun.


	3. Alonzo

**Whee, this chapter was fun! Ooh, drama already, what's not to love?**

* * * * * * * * * *

Several days passed, and a certain black-and-white tom certainly wasn't growing any more sociable. He still hadn't seemed to have found out, but that was easily attributed to the fact that he had more or less secluded himself from the world of the Junkyard. Jemima was obviously growing worried; though he certainly didn't hold the place in her heart he once had, she still hated to see him like this.

"Misto? Hey, Misto," she whispered to him one morning.

He rolled over in his sleep with a faint groan, snoring lightly.

She gave him a shove. "Misto!"

He snorted ungracefully as he awoke. "Huh . . . wha?"

"Misto . . ." She sighed. "I think we need to talk to Alonzo."

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute." He immediately sat up straight, suddenly wide awake. " 'We'?"

"Well . . . yes," she admitted. "I just get the feeling that it'd be better if you're there, too."

Misto closed his eyes for a moment, shuddering as he remembered the death glare Alonzo had given him when he went to see Victoria's newborn kitten a week ago. He was truly afraid of the monochromatic tom; he knew there was no use in hiding it.

"Look, honey, I know you don't want to," she quietly pressed, "but would you prefer that this thing between you two never get resolved?"

He wilted slightly, knowing that she had a point. He really _didn't_ want to live in fear, and he didn't want to go through the rest of his life knowing that Alonzo hated him. And the next thing he knew, he was heading towards Alonzo's den, located behind the old oven. Jemima was in front of him; he was in no hurry whatsoever to get there. He saw her pause next to the oven and turn around, waiting for him. Shaking slightly, he quickened his pace until he was at her side. Finally, she stepped forward and poked her head around the corner of the huge metal box. "Alonzo?" she called softly.

There was the sound of movement, followed by a bitingly sarcastic term of endearment: "Hello, bitch."

Misto winced as he thought about the greeting that might be in store for him. Jemima, however, seemed to take that as an invitation to enter. "Alonzo, please, I need to talk to you." She proceeded in a couple more steps, and beckoned with a paw for Misto to follow.

He gulped and, trying not to quiver as much as he knew he was, stepped in behind her.

The moment he looked in, Alonzo locked eyes with him. Such intense hatred burned in his eyes that Misto could almost feel their glare singe his fur. He cowered away from the bigger tom's thunderous bellow a moment before he delivered it.

"You bloody little mother fu–"

He didn't wait around to hear the full string of freshly-prepared insults. Before Alonzo had gotten a full phrase out, Misto turned to flee, but soon realized he was hindered by something holding onto his tail. Panic surged through him for a heartbeat, but then he looked back and saw that it was Jemima. She gave him a persisting look, and he knew he couldn't refuse, no matter how much he wanted to. His shoulders sagged, and he came back to stand at her side as she released his tail. He peeked around the oven's corner again.

Alonzo looked at him mutinously, then turned his icy gaze back on Jemima. "All right, what do you want?" he demanded impatiently. "You'd damn well better make it quick."

Misto studied him while he spoke. There were dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept in a month, and his scowl seemed permanently affixed to his face. His fur was matted and sticking up in clumps; he obviously hadn't been taking care of it. He stood at his full intimidating height, arms folded across his broad, powerful chest, providing a good view of his admittedly impressive biceps. His overall appearance made him look like something straight from the fiery depths of hell.

"And what the crap are _you_ looking at?" he growled as he noticed Misto.

"Nothing," he replied meekly, sinking his claws into the soft old metal for support. He still stood mostly hidden behind the oven, with only his head and part of his chest showing to Alonzo.

Jemima shot a quick glance at him before she began. "Alonzo . . . well, I know you know I love Misto. There, I said it; there's no use in trying to hide it from you."

A low growl rumbled in Alonzo's throat, but he didn't interrupt.

"But . . . there's a more important reason we came to talk to you," Jemima continued hesitantly. "First of all . . . well, we might as well get this out of the way. I don't love you, Alonzo. I know it hurts to hear that from me, but it's true. You just need to get over me."

_You have no idea_, Misto thought. He desperately tried to keep himself from shuddering as he remembered how he had felt when those words had been said to him so long ago . . .

Alonzo blinked, neither his facial expression nor body posture having changed since Jemima had started. He said nothing; Misto was beginning to wonder if his silence should worry him.

Jemima paused, then heaved a sigh before continuing. "And secondly . . . well, I know you're not going to be happy with this, but . . . there's really no easy way to tell you –"

"Get on with it, Jemima, I don't have all freaking day," Alonzo snapped. Misto bit back a comment about how he didn't seem too busy at all.

She looked at Misto guiltily; his claws still embedded in the oven, he cast a brief glance at her too. Before responding, she gazed at her gradually-swelling belly and rubbed it gently with a paw. Finally, she turned her gaze back on Alonzo, who stood as if he had been carved from stone, his features hard and his expression unreadable. Misto thought that he must have guessed by now, but he still feared his reaction. He felt himself tense as Jemima almost inaudibly spoke. "I'm going to have his kittens." Apparently, she thought "pregnant" was too strong a word to use on the black-and-white tom.

Their effect on him was the same, though. There were a couple heartbeats of absolute silence as the words and the implications behind them sunk in. Alonzo's scowl softened into a frown; his mouth fell open a tiny bit as his eyes widened into an expression of shock. He looked at Jemima, then at Misto, then back at Jemima again. He then turned his eyes back on Misto and locked them there. They narrowed slightly again. "Pity," he said slowly and unemotionally. "I thought you were neutered."

"What?" The statement caught Misto off-guard. "Where did you hear –"

Before he could finish, however, Alonzo let loose with a deafening snarl almost better described as a roar and lunged at the tuxedo tom, claws extended, before the mentioned tom had a chance to comprehend what was going on.

Misto's eyes widened and he gave a sharp yowl, his voice cracking and ultimately not helping the situation. Acting purely on his own lightning-quick reflexes, he dropped to the ground and assumed the fetal position. He heard Jemima scream; he concentrated all of his energy as Alonzo attacked . . .

_Thonk!_ The bigger tom crash-landed hard on the wall of invisible energy surrounding Misto and collapsed on the ground. Misto opened his eyes a crack, unable to stop from smirking at the sight of the crumpled heap of black and white fur, at the same time relieved to see he'd made a strong enough forcefield in such a short time. Alonzo picked himself up unsteadily. Incorrigibly powered by the fury and testosterone pulsing through his veins, he threw himself at Misto again.

The tuxedo tom braced himself for the attack; each time the forcefield was struck, it sent a jolt of pain through his body. It took enough energy to maintain the forcefield, but it took even more to endure the throbbing sensation. He knew he couldn't relax even for a moment, however, for if he did, the forcefield would disappear and Alonzo would kill him in a matter of mere moments – it was well within his power to do so, and Misto knew it. He could hear him swearing at him as he pounded on the wall of energy.

"Good-for-nothing son of a bitch! You bloody, thieving little bastard! Oh, you think you're so damn tough, but I can see you shaking! I hope you rot in hell, you little pussy! The second you come out, I'll tear your goddamn face off and feed you to a freaking Pollicle!" He raked his claws across the forcefield as he proceeded to issue a copious string of profanities Misto had never even heard before.

As his claws scored across the psychic wall, excruciating pain seared through Misto, as if his blood was on fire. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth, panting from exhaustion but forcing himself to strain every muscle in his body. His ears were pinned against his skull and sweat was rolling down his face. His strength about to give out, his jaws parted and a yowl rang from deep in his throat. His breath was coming in through a series of gasps, and the pain was getting worse; he knew this was the end. His energy was utterly spent, no matter how much he wanted to cry out to Jemima, cry out to her how much he loved her. He could never say good-bye. As that thought reached his mind, tears began to fall, mixing with the sweat and stinging his eyes. _I can't go! I'm too young to die! I'm about to be a father! I just can't die!_ Those were the words he desperately wished he could yell. But he couldn't. He became faintly aware of Jemima's voice shrieking, "Alonzo! Stop!" before he succumbed to the dizzying blackness.

* * * * *

Some time later, Misto became aware of hushed voices all around him. He attempted to pry open his eyes; it felt as though his eyelids were weighted down with rocks. He tried to blink a few times in order to clear up his blurred vision and found that he was in a dimly-lit, yet cozy and welcoming place. It seemed familiar. Stretching his eyes as wide as they would go – which was about halfway – he slowly turned his head, and was met with a terrible ache in the back of his skull the moment he moved. Abandoning that idea, he let his eyes wander about his surroundings. He felt as if his body was no longer attached – he was completely numb. But then he became aware of something on his paw. Something . . . warm. It felt nice. He looked around some more, and noticed in his peripheral vision something looking back at him. Ignoring the pain, he slowly turned his head and found himself staring into two large, beautiful brown eyes. Eyes fraught with worry and grief. He was barely able to open his mouth wide enough to vocalize. "Mmh . . . Jmma?" It hurt to talk.

A smile slowly crept onto her delicate face. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, Misto, honey, it's me." Was she crying? He felt her begin to gently stroke his headfur and realized that her paw was resting on his.

He blinked slowly. "WhrmI?"

"You're in the car," she told him quietly. "Don't worry, you're safe now."

There was the sound of movement. A female voice said, "Is he awake?" and two shapes appeared behind Jemima: Jellylorum and Munkustrap.

He tried to focus his eyes on them, but found himself unable to look at anything but his mate. "Whppned?" he asked. He tried to lift his head and shoulders, but as he did so a horrendous ache seared through him like lightning. He fell back with a groan.

"Y-you passed out because you were using so much energy," Jemima told him, carefully refraining from using the words "pain" or "Alonzo". "Munkustrap heard me screaming and came to your rescue just in time. He brought you here, and you were unconscious until just now. It's after sundown."

He sighed, feeling his eyes close again. But then a thought hit him. "Alnzo!" he exclaimed, and suddenly jumped off the bed. Immediately, every single muscle in his entire body screamed in protest, and he fell flat on his face. There was a collective gasp, and he then felt himself being lifted in the air. Munkustrap lightly placed him back on the bed.

Jemima took his paws in her own. "Ssh, ssh, don't worry about Alonzo," she quieted him. "Munkustrap sent him away and ordered him to stay away from you."

The tabby nodded. "I said I'd be watching him, and if he so much as sneezed in your direction, he'd be Pollicle food." He smiled.

The expression was duplicated on Jemima's face. "You're safe now," she repeated in a near whisper. She closed her eyes; a drop glistened on her cheek. "I thought we were going to lose you." Her voice was now a complete whisper, for all of her unspoken love and joy were choking her. "I'm just so glad you're alive," she added emotionally.

He looked up at her and smiled. The seventeen muscles in his body that didn't hurt at all . . . "Ilveyou," he managed to articulate. The words felt so beautiful . . .

Her eyes opened and focused tenderly on him. She blinked and leaned down; at the same time he stretched upwards as far as his muscles would allow, and her soft, warm lips met with his own.

"You're the love of my life, Misto," she whispered once they broke apart. "As long as I know that you know that, and as long as you feel the same about me, I'll always be happy."

He grinned lovingly and was about to respond when another voice whose owner he wasn't even aware was present rang out from the opposite side of the car. "Everyone! Everyone! Theseus's eyes have opened!"


	4. TWINS?

**Okay, to avoid confusion in this chapter, there's something I'd better clear up: I'm basing the length of Jemima's pregnancy on the standard 63-66 day gestation period of cats. But at the same time, I'm basing this on the fact that the Jellicles are like humans in that the expectancy is only one per litter. Yeah, I know my opinions on the Jellicle lifestyle are skewed. No flames, please.**

* * * * * * * * * *

At the sound of Victoria's voice, Jellylorum pivoted on her heels and hurried over to her. "Oh, Victoria, dearie, that's wonderful!" she cried after a moment of examination. Jemima looked over her shoulder curiously, but remained faithfully at Misto's bedside. Munkustrap seemed to have excused himself from the scene. Misto desperately wanted to get up and look, but forced himself to remain still in order to eschew the pain he knew would follow if he moved. Instead, he sighed and merely tried to visualize tiny Theseus taking his first gander at the world.

Jellylorum poked her head outside. "Plato!" she called. "In here at once, dear!"

The russet-brown-and-white tom burst in almost immediately. "Yeah, Mom? What is it? Is Victoria okay?" Without waiting for a response, he rushed over to her side, either ignoring or not noticing Misto and Jemima.

"Theseus, look," Victoria cooed softly. "See your father standing there? Do you see Daddy?"

A pause. " . . . 'Look'? 'See'?" Plato squeaked. Then there came a tiny, kittenish mew. It sounded happy, excited. Plato made a strange, but adoring, gasping noise.

Finally, Misto's curiosity got the better of him. He slowly turned his head to see that Victoria had retired from her big comfy bed to a cat basket. Plato crouched with one arm around her and the other paw gently stroking Theseus. The teeny tom-kit's eyes were in fact about half-open, but looked nearly too big for his week-old body. He was looking all around him innocently and curiously, wanting to know everything about his world in one glance. Misto also noticed that his eyes were the same color as his mother's: crystal blue. The kitten looked up at his father, and the sound of a soft, awkward, high-pitched kit-purr reached Misto's ears.

"Misto!"

The concerned voice caused the tuxedo tom to automatically jerk his head around, habitually wanting to know who was calling his name. It only occurred to him a split second after he turned his head the mistake he'd made; he issued a low groan out of the agony that pulsed through him and let his head drop back down, putting him back in a horizontal position. Jemima began caressing his headfur again.

Demeter quickly made her way over to him. Munkustrap was behind her – Misto realized that he must have informed her of the misfortune. "Misto, sweetie, are you all right?" She knelt down next to the bed and grasped his paw; he cringed and held back a whimper as his arm was moved.

" 'Llbe fine, Mom," he managed.

"Munkustrap told me everything," she said, confirming Misto's conclusion. "I was so worried for you! I had no idea Alonzo could be so violent! From what I was told, I'm surprised you didn't _die_!" She put a paw to her mouth as the last part slipped out. "Oh dear, I'm sorry."

He let out a grunt. "S'okay."

"Well, he almost did!" Jemima put in. She bent over and touched her nose to his ear as she added, "It's a miracle he pulled through so well."

It nearly made Misto cry – he soon discovered that purring hurt even more than talking did.

Demeter hugged him gently, looking like she was about to cry herself. "Only you can escape death the way you have so many times."

"Was there ever a cat so clever?" two voices chorused together. One was Jemima, lovingly; the other, to Misto's surprise, was Victoria, who had seemingly appeared behind her. Jemima and Demeter both looked at the white queen, obviously caught equally as off-guard by the unexpected sympathy.

"I heard about what happened," she mewed quietly. "I overheard everything when Jemima was explaining it to Jellylorum. And I agree with Demeter – I can't believe Alonzo would do that! He needs to learn that hurting you isn't going to get him anywhere."

"Bastrd," Misto muttered in agreement.

"Misto . . ." Demeter warned him. He could tell she was going to let it go, though – she still seemed immensely relieved that her son was alive.

"He's such a cocky, egotistical jerk," Victoria continued. "I think he's just jealous, and he doesn't know how to deal with it. He's used to being able to control everything, but –" she smiled as the finished the sentence – "he can't control the fact that Jemima has good taste."

It took a moment for the meaning of the words to catch up to Misto, but when he realized what she meant, he put on a flattered expression and smiled, looking up at his dark calico love. She, in turn, glanced at Victoria, then turned her gaze back on him. It seemed the smile was infectious.

"I'd choose you over that selfish brute any day," she confirmed.

Victoria giggled. "Well, I've brought someone over to meet you." She stepped up to the side of the bed, revealing that she was cradling a red-and-white furball in her arms. Two curious blue eyes blinked at Misto. "Theseus," the white queen purred to her kitten, "this is Mister Mistoffelees." She extended her arms slightly, holding him at Misto's eye level.

The kitten looked at him for a moment, his eyes clear and innocent. Then, delicately, he stretched forward, pushing his tiny face close into Misto's. The tuxedo tom could feel the little puffs of air as Theseus breathed, sniffing noses with him curiously. He desperately tried to hold back a laugh at the indisputably kittenish act.

Victoria grinned and proceeded to "introduce" her son to the others. Plato was looking on and smiling lovingly the whole time. When his snow-white mate returned to his side, he gently requested, "May I . . .?" and held out his arms indicatively.

"Of course!" she purred, and transferred Theseus to him. The kitten met his eyes, then nuzzled into his father's chest and gave a great big yawn. He blinked sleepily a couple times before falling sound asleep in Plato's arms. There was a soft, resounding "Aww."

Misto gazed at Jemima again. She looked at him in response; he could tell that they both had the same thought going through their heads.

Jellylorum was regarding her too, with a thoughtful expression on her face, almost looking concerned. "Jemima," she finally addressed her.

She turned around. "Yes, Jelly?"

"Stand up, dearie, if you would." She made a small gesture with her paw, signaling the young queen to rise.

Jemima shot a quick, confused glance at Misto before obeying.

Jelly slowly padded over to her, the entire time holding her light brown gaze on the pregnant queen's belly. She appeared to be very deep in thought.

" . . . Jelly?" Jemima was beginning to sound nervous. "Is something wrong?"

"You're only two weeks pregnant," the older queen observed. "You still have six and a half weeks to go. Why on earth are you so big already?"

Jemima cast a brief glance around the car. Everyone's eyes were now glued to her.

Jelly delicately put a paw on the younger queen's belly. The whole car was contained in deadly silence as she concentrated hard on Jemima; Misto was growing more apprehensive by the moment. Was something going wrong? If something _was_ wrong, what was it? Would Jemima be okay? Would the kitten be okay? Was it possible that one of them might _die_? All the thoughts were only making his faint headache worse. He turned so that he was laying flat on his back, staring blankly at the roof as he willed the unpleasant thoughts away.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Jelly's ears flicked straight up in the air, sitting erect atop her head in surprise. Her eyebrows arched sharply and she blinked as she dropped her paw to her side. Her loud exclamation made nearly everyone jump. "Great Heaviside, it feels like twins!"

"Twins?" Jemima echoed softly, putting both paws on her stomach as if trying to figure out whether the elderly nurse was telling the truth.

"TWINS?!" Misto's half-closed eyes immediately shot open. He sat bolt upright, temporarily shocked out of the pain, and his voice shot through two octaves as he cried out incredulously.

"Twins?" Demeter murmured in a near whisper. She looked at her son contemplatively.

"Twins!" Victoria sounded amused, but there was still a note of surprise in her voice.

Plato's eyebrows arched like his mother's, but both he and Munkustrap had the good sense to keep quiet.

Jemima looked at Misto and he looked at her. The expression on her face mirrored his thoughts exactly: she looked utterly bewildered, and unsure what to think.

Himself, Misto was beginning to feel light-headed. He stared off into space, blinked a few times, and then fell back down with a _wump_. He had fainted dead away before his head even touched the bedding.

* * * * *

When the tuxedo tom came to again, there was the sound of rustling. He forced his eyes open and saw Jemima preparing what looked like a makeshift bed net to his. "Jmima?" he rasped. It was getting easier to talk, but Misto was still unable to be any more coherent than a low mumble. He saw her ears perk at the sound of his voice before she turned around and knelt down next to him.

"Yes, my love?" It was clear that him passing out numerous times that day hadn't done much to relieve her concern.

He squirmed a tiny bit. "Whatime'sit now?"

She sighed. "Not much later. You weren't out for long this time." Casting a quick look around, she added, "Munkustrap, Demeter, and Plato have left, and Victoria and Theseus are sleeping." She gestured to the bed she was working on. "I'm getting ready to sleep here too – Jelly says you should stay in the car overnight, at least."

He took a moment to think about what she had said. "Yurstayin with me?"

At first, Jemima seemed surprised. "Of course! I could never rest even for a moment knowing you were alone."

Misto smiled tenderly. "Thnks, Jmmy."

She smiled back. Then it looked as if a thought had come to her. "Before you ask, yes, it _is_ true. Jelly did a second test after you fainted, and . . . I'm having twins."

He didn't respond, but instead just studied her. Even with the diagnosis embedded in his mind, he still couldn't help but wonder if there really could be _two_ kittens inside of her.

"Everything alright in there, Miss Jemima?" Jellylorum inquired as she entered. "Daddy's back again, I see."

Misto secretly wished she'd stop calling him that, but he didn't have the energy to object. Besides, he told himself, he'd have to get used to the nickname sooner or later anyway.

"Everything's fine, thanks," Jemima answered. "I think I'm about ready to turn in . . . I'll be right back." She kissed Misto on the cheek and rose to leave, but he was unable to prevent a small whimper from escaping him.

She glanced over her shoulder. "Oh," she cooed, "don't worry. This won't take long – I'm just going to tell Mom and Dad what happened."

"Hrryback," he pleaded.

Giving a flick of her tail to show she'd heard, Jemima exited the car and disappeared into the night.

Unfortunately, having spent more of his day unconscious than not hadn't exactly done wonders for Misto, either. No more than a couple of minutes had passed after Jemima left when he unexpectedly leaned over the side of his bed and had a nausea attack.

Jelly put a paw to her mouth. "Oh dear." She wasted no time in grabbing some cleaning materials and taking care of the mess.

"Srry," he mumbled in embarrassment.

"Don't you apologize for anything," Jelly practically scolded. "In no way is anything that's happened today your fault." But then she blinked at him curiously. "Do you know what might have brought that on?"

"Felt fine . . . tilla momenago," he croaked.

Jelly scrunched her brow, trying to figure out what could have induced the sudden sickness. "How are you feeling now?"

He issued a low groan. "Li'l queasy."

It was at that moment that Jemima reentered; at the same time, Jellylorum instructed him, "Well, if you feel like you're going to get sick again, just holler."

Instead of answering right away, however, Misto just looked into Jemima's eyes. And just like that, the queasiness vanished. Addressing the elder queen, but eyes never leaving his mate, he murmured, "S'all gone now."

Jelly looked at him and then followed his gaze to the dark calico. She sighed as she realized what had happened. "Love is such a powerful medicine." She made to exit, but paused just before reaching her sleeping quarters in another section of the car. "Good night to the four of you." Somehow, Misto knew that Victoria and Theseus weren't included in those four. And with that, she left them to their privacy.

Misto turned to Jemima – the pain was finally beginning to ebb. She eased herself onto her ersatz bed and looked at him. "Misto? You look like you want to say something."

He swallowed hard and forced the words out clearly and coherently: "I . . . love . . . you. I love you so much."

A beautiful grin broke across her face. "I love you too."

Finally, Misto couldn't hold back any longer. He succumbed to the day's accumulated love and happiness and let an enormous purr swell through his body, reminiscent of the night the kitten – no, kitten_s_ – had been conceived: painful for one short moment, but after that, incontestably wonderful.


	5. Surprising Illusions

**Sorry for the absence! I'd like to thank my more devoted readers, who constantly yelled at me to get my lazy butt working on this. You know who you are.**

* * * * * * * * * *

A day passed. Misto awoke on the dawn of the next to Jemima gently shaking him and his name being whispered in his ear.

"Misto . . . wake up . . ."

"Mm." He didn't even open his eyes. "Fvmrminutes." His speech was impeded more by drowsiness than pain.

"No," she persisted, her tone of voice gently nagging. "Now."

Reluctantly, he blinked open his eyes. "Jemmy," he whined, "it's so – " his complaint was interrupted by a huge yawn. " – so _early_."

"I know," she answered bluntly. "Doesn't matter. We're getting you back on your feet."

He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut again.

She paused a moment. But then he heard her giggle. "You look so cute when you're sleeping."

"Then why're you trying to wake me up?" he grunted.

"Because you're cut_er_ when you're awake!"

He squirmed, not swayed by her reason.

There was silence. For a fleeting moment, Misto thought he'd won, but some rustling and two new scents told him differently. Something warm and squishy like a cat's paw pad landed on his face, soon followed by another. He screwed his eyes tightly shut, having taken a shrewd guess as to what was happening. Then, something rough and moist, yet warm, drew across his face a couple times. Cautiously, he cracked open his eyes. Sure enough, there was little Theseus getting rather up close and personal with him.

He pushed the week-old kitten away as gently as he could manage. "Vicky!" he complained sleepily. He saw Jemima pull a mild face at the nickname, but she was probably just wary of any possibilities. That was normal for a pregnant queen, right?

Victoria let out a little giggle and picked up her curious kitten. "Won't be the last time that happens to you," she pointed out simply.

"The way you're going," he muttered, "he's going to think I'm his father."

She grinned and shook her head. "I don't think so," she mewed. "Kits just seem to know these things."

He raised his eyebrows before finally looking at Jemima, defeated. "Okay, you got me up. I hope you're happy."

Jemima smiled. "You're awake," she purred, "so yes."

He sighed. He knew he couldn't argue with that. "So . . . now what?"

"Up!" She stood at her full height, motioning with her paws for him to rise.

He issued a small whine, but proceeded to slowly and stiffly stand up beside the bed. He flinched at the residual aches he felt in his legs. Once he was up, he was met with an immense head rush, causing him to sit right back down until it cleared. When it did, he looked at her pleadingly.

She just gazed back, not saying a word.

Slowly coming to the realization that there was absolutely no getting out of this, he sluggishly rose again, rocking back and forth for a minute to find his center of balance. Having accomplished that, he met her gaze again.

She putted and gave a single, approving nod. "Now, walk."

"Um . . ." He glanced at his legs, as if having forgotten how to make them move. Uncertainly, he brought one forward, but wobbled a little as he did so. He quickly put it back.

Jemima gave a little sigh. She was clearly trying to think of something else when she suddenly put a paw to her stomach, clamping the other over her mouth. She bolted out of the car, cheeks bulging.

That did the trick. Automatically, Misto ran after her, finding her near the edge of the junkyard. She was clutching her belly as she crouched over a puddle of vomit. He stooped down beside her and draped an arm over her.

She met his eyes and smiled. "I would kiss you," she giggled weakly, "but I don't think I tasted good right now."

"Can I trust you to redeem that offer later on?" he purred.

"Of course," she purred back as she rose and headed back to the car.

Misto followed. Admittedly, it felt good to be walking again.

Upon their return, Victoria was laughing quite hard. "I didn't think you could move that fast even _before_ you were hurt, Misto!" she cackled. A tiny, infantile giggle was coming from Theseus, as if the tom-kit knew what was going on.

He exchanged a glance with Jemima. "All right, I can walk. Are we done?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head smugly. "I haven't seen you dance."

He gave her a look that said, "Seriously, Jemmy?" "Well . . ." He hesitated a bit. "That's . . . it's simple, really. I just have to – " He stretched down and touched the ground, keeping his legs unbent. To his faint chagrin, he felt a slight pain in his hamstrings and quickly stood up straight. "I just have to warm up, that's it," he explained, and without further hesitation he went into a split. About halfway he felt a bit of a burn, but ignored it and forced himself farther down. The burn only got worse, and he was unable to sink down the entire way before it got so intense that he had to give up. He rose again and looked at his mate half-hopelessly. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Victoria was watching intently. Drawing in a breath, he very sedately danced the first few steps to his Jellicle Ball solo. Accomplishing that, he tried a single slow, experimental pirouette. He did another one, faster, and another after that. Beginning to feel like his old terpsichorean self again, he rose on one footpaw and started doing a bunch of rapid turns in succession. After six or seven, however, his balance faltered and he teetered to one side, eventually toppling over and landing on the bed.

"Oh, Jem, don't let him hurt himself," Victoria cooed.

Jemima didn't respond. She just gazed at Misto patiently.

He shook his head to clear away the dizziness. Casting a look around, he saw that now Jellylorum and even Theseus were staring at him expectantly. A new light of determination entered his eyes as he arose once more. He did a couple of balletic leaps and twirls before lifting his right leg, keeping it parallel to the ground, and spinning around on his left footpaw. A triumphant grin made its way across his face as shouts of encouragement issued from the queens, and this time he made it nearly to thirty. He gently fell back as he finished, and soon found himself in the arms of Jemima, who was hugging him with surprising strength for an expecting queen. Sitting back down on the bed and thus causing her to do the same, he returned the hug gently and sweetly.

"I always loved seeing you do that," she murmured. "You dance so well."

He gave her a soft smile. "Thanks, sweetie," he purred.

She nodded once and sat back with a yawn.

He looked at her in faint amusement, another smile playing on his lips. "Tired?"

She shook her head and laid a paw on her belly. "Kittens."

He let out a gentle sigh. A moment passed in silence. Purely out of curiosity, he lifted one paw and made a rapid circular motion with his wrist, feeling a twinge of satisfaction when a bunch of tiny, harmless sparks showered down like snow. He had tried that the previous day, only to find that his powers had been completely gone – most likely from overuse.

Theseus sat back on his haunches and batted at the sparks. Misto chuckled and sent down another shower directly over the tom-kit, who gave a little squeal of delight as one landed directly on his nose.

Victoria smiled as she watched her son playing and shot a quick, appreciative glance at Misto.

He thought for a moment, and then flashed Jemima a quick wink. He stuck one arm out in front of him and slowly drew it from left to right. A cloud of smoke appeared in midair, taking the form of letters. _Jemima_, it read.

The young queen blinked.

Misto waved both of his paws in front of him, and the letters reconfigured. Now the smoke spelled out, _I love you_. He grinned and put a paw behind his back as he observed her reaction.

An awestruck, flattered smile broke across her face and she let out a little "Oh!" before turning to face him. As she did so, he brought out his paw in front of him with a flourish. In it, he held a rose.

Jemima delicately took it and sniffed it. "It's beautiful," she breathed.

He nodded. "Just like you."

She very gently set the flower down, and the next thing Misto knew, she was kissing him fiercely, pressing herself as close to him as her swollen stomach would allow. Wrapping his arms around her, he kissed back with a passion mirroring hers.

Victoria promptly covered Theseus's eyes by sweeping her tail in front of his face.

Munkustrap poked his head in. "How's – oh." He cut off the question as his eyes fell on the lovers, who continued on as if he wasn't even there.

Jemima broke the kiss. "He's doing just fine, Munkustrap," she chirped sunnily, aiming a grin in his direction. Turning back to Misto and lowering her voice to a purr, she met her mate's eyes. "It seems you still meet expectations in that way."

He arched his eyebrows, but was grinning slightly. "That was a test?"

She giggled. "You passed." She leaned in and kissed him again. This time when they broke off, she slowly opened her eyes and let out a little sigh. "I've been thinking."

"What about?" he drawled, a heavy intonation of a purr in his voice.

"About names for the kits . . . I like Rosalina for a queen."

"Rosalina . . ." he repeated to himself. "It's pretty. I like it." He smiled. "I was thinking Mysteris for a tom . . . it sounds like 'mystery', or 'mysterious'."

Jemima opened her mouth to respond, but instead, Victoria's voice pitched in. "That's got a bit of a ring to it."

Both parents-to-be started, and Misto remembered that they weren't alone in the car. "Uh, thanks," he muttered.

She gave a nod and smiled.

Jemima glanced at her almost dubiously before addressing her mate. "I think you're ready to get back to our den."

"That's a good idea," Jellylorum murmured. "You seem to be doing well enough to manage, Misto."

He looked at Jemima approvingly and, with her at his side, stood up. She plucked the rose off the bed as they slowly padded out.

"Bye, Misto!" called Victoria. Misto turned to see her smiling and waving good-bye. But before he could respond, Jemima grabbed his paw and jerked him out after her.

Once they were outside, he glanced at her curiously. "Do you not like Victoria, Jemmy?" he asked.

She sighed. "No, it's just that . . . never mind." She smiled. "Mysteris sounds nice. I can just see it – Magical Mister Mistoffelees and Marvelous Mysteris!"

He chuckled. "I like the sound of that. Do you suppose the kits will be conjurers?"

She shrugged. By this time they were standing at the entrance to their den. "Hard to say at this point, but who knows? Perhaps they will." Giving him a loving smile, she proceeded inside.

He thought for a moment and followed her. "What if they're both queens? We could name the other . . . Crysta, how does that sound?"

She nodded slowly. "Maybe . . . and what if they're both toms?"

"Quaxo!" he offered immediately, grinning.

"Actually," she giggled, "I was thinking more along the lines of Zephyr."

"That works too, I suppose," he purred.

She nuzzled him affectionately before her jaws gaped in a yawn. "You're right," she murmured, "maybe I shouldn't've woken up so early. I'm always so tired now because of these two." She rubbed her belly as she spoke. "I think I should lay down for a while."

He gave a little flick of his tail to show he'd heard as she laid down on their bed – an assortment of blankets that had accumulated over time whenever one showed up in the junkyard. He lay next to her on his stomach and gave her headfur a few gentle licks, and within moments her breathing had slowed and fallen into a steady rhythm. He sighed softly. _She_ was the reason he'd put up with the morning's exercises, the reason he'd stuck with it – just so he could see her smile and know that she was happy. He loved her.


	6. Eccentric Confusions

**Once again, I apologize for the (unintentional) hiatus in my updates . . . my main source of motivation disappeared for a while, so it took a little while before I kicked myself in the butt and decided to get working. Forgive me, pleasey?**

**Like many CATS fanfics, yes, this is set in London.**

Two more weeks passed. It had been a month; Jemima's pregnancy was half over. She was growing bigger by the day.

One morning, Misto awoke before she did. Blinking in the early morning light, he pushed himself up and arched his back in a stretch. Then he lowered his chest to the ground and reached his arms out in front of him, and then stretched each hind leg in turn, finishing with a gaping yawn as he heaved himself into a sitting position. He gazed down at his peacefully-sleeping mate and smiled softly. He bent down and kissed her forehead and then, deciding not to disturb her, rose to his paws and padded outside to go for a morning walk.

Several cats were already moving about. Misto was just in the process of avoiding the oven and the black-and-white death threat that lay in wait behind it when he – almost literally – ran into the Rum Tum Tugger.

The maned tom had been heading straight towards Misto, but obviously hadn't been looking where he was going; from what Misto could tell, his eyes had been glued to Bombalurina, who, as usual, was ignoring him. Tugger was frowning slightly, but after nearly colliding with him, he looked down at Misto and smiled.

"Hey there, little buddy! Long time, no see!" he announced a little too loudly, slapping Misto on the back.

"Oof!" The smaller tom stumbled forwards from the force of the blow, but quickly regained his balance and glanced up at Tugger. "Um, hi, Tu–"

"So, what's up with you?" Tugger inquired, cutting him off. He leaned down to Misto's eye level, giving him a little grin as he murmured in a poor attempt at confidentiality, "Heard you got laid, dude!"

The tuxedo tom quickly looked away, praying that he wouldn't start blushing. "Um . . . well . . . I – "

"Jemima, hmm?" Tugger continued, appearing to think for a moment. He elbowed Misto lightly as he asked, "Well, how 'bout it? Is she good in the sack?"

Misto ducked his ears, feeling his face begin to grow hot despite his efforts. "Well . . . I . . . uh, she – " He stopped himself, suddenly turning his head to look at the tall black-and-leopard-spotted tom, one eyebrow raised. "Wait, why do you want to kno–"

"Whoa, hey, no need to get defensive, Romeo," he interrupted again, a small smirk on his face as he turned his palms outward in a mock-"I didn't do it" gesture. "I was just askin', that's all. Say, where is the babe, anyway?"

"She's sleeping," Misto nearly growled, for the first time in the conversation able to give a full response.

"Ahh," Tugger mused, nodding slowly. "Well, nice talkin' with ya, Stoff."

Misto pulled a mild face, feeling the fur along his spine prickle slightly. He hated that nickname. "Tugger, you know I don't – "

But the Curious Cat was already sauntering away. "Guess I'll see you around . . ." He paused. " . . . Daddy." Snickering, he turned and left without another word.

A low growl rose in Misto's throat. Was the whole junkyard going to start calling him that? It seemed that everyone was acting as if there had never been a pregnant queen in the tribe before. His tail flicking in annoyance, he continued on his way. He could feel Bombalurina's gaze upon him and guessed that she had been listening to the exchange. "How the hell do you stand him?" he hissed at the scarlet queen as he passed her.

He was fairly certain that he hadn't been out long enough for Jemima to wake up. But where else could he go? More specifically, where could he go without putting himself in danger of encountering more "congratulations"? The junkyard suddenly seemed very small. He started walking again with no particular destination in mind, soon finding that his paws were carrying him in the direction of the car. He looked at the rusty old TSE 1, wondering what he could possibly want there at the moment.

No sooner had the question passed through his mind than a white figure moving about in the open trunk caught his eye. "Oh! Misto!" Victoria called, smiling at him. "I was just thinking about you!"

He returned the greeting with a very intelligent-sounding, "Uhh . . ." The statement had caught him quite off-guard. "You were?"

Victoria nodded, still smiling. But the smile faded slightly as she murmured, "I've been wanting to talk to you . . ."

He tilted his head the slightest bit to one side. "Yes?"

There was a brief pause. Then the white queen padded forward and sat down on the edge of the trunk, her legs hanging down over the rear bumper of the car. She beckoned him with a paw. "Come on up here."

Misto blinked, but leapt up into the trunk and sat down beside her. He noticed that she was maintaining her old slender figure quite well.

Theseus toddled up to the visitor. "Hi, Mister Misto," he greeted in a high-pitched kitten voice, carefully emphasizing each syllable.

Misto gave him a friendly smile, though he was a bit surprised that the tom-kit remembered him. "Hello, Theseus."

The kitten smiled back. "Gramma says we can leave soon," he announced proudly. "'Cause I'm almost a big boy now."

Victoria ruffled her young son's headfur. "Jelly told me earlier that Theseus is nearly old enough for me to bring him home to my den," she quickly explained to Misto. He noticed, however, that she didn't sound incredibly happy, and she made no mention of Plato.

Any note of unhappiness in her voice, though, disappeared as she lightly inquired, "So, how's Jemima? Halfway there, huh?"

He nodded, grinning slightly. "Yes . . . I suppose so. She's doing just fine."

"Halfway where?" squeaked Theseus.

"You'll learn when you're older," Victoria told him gently. Turning back to Misto, she continued, "I think you'll make a great father."

Lots of cats had been telling him that – mostly the ones with enough sense to not shout "Daddy!" every time he walked by. But he couldn't understand why the general consensus was the way it was; what made him different from any other tom? "Thanks," he mumbled.

Victoria must have picked up on the note of confusion in his voice. "No, really! You've got great parental qualities. I know you can be _really_ gentle and compassionate when you want to be, and that's a good thing! It means you care, both about Jemima and the kittens." She smiled almost tenderly. "You probably haven't realized this, but ever since you found out you were going to be a father, you've really been putting your heart into the things you do for her. It's really quite sweet!"

He ducked his ears at all of the compliments, but a part of him couldn't help but wonder how she could possibly have observed his actions enough to draw such conclusions.

The white queen sighed, gazing at Theseus, who now seemed to be playing tug-o-war with the bedding in the basket where he and his mother slept. "Every kitten should have such a sturdy father figure as they grow up." The melancholy intonation had returned to her mew.

"Vicky . . ." he murmured. As he vocalized the nickname, he remembered Jemima's apparent uneasiness in the other queen's presence, but at the same time, he was sure he saw Victoria smile at the sobriquet. Shaking it off, he continued, "You seem unhappy about something. What's wrong?"

If there was a smile, it quickly vanished. Victoria glanced at Theseus once more, as if making sure he was out of earshot, before quietly responding, "It's Plato. He's . . . well . . . he's leaving."

"Leaving?" he repeated, obviously a little too loudly for Victoria's liking. The snowy white queen pulled a pained face at the word.

" . . . Sorry," Misto mumbled. "But what do you mean? Where to?"

"His humans are moving to Newcastle," she explained quietly, studying the floor of the car, "and he has to go with them. He just told me yesterday . . . I'm still trying to get over it . . ."

"Oh . . ." He gazed at her sympathetically. "I'm so sorry, Vicky . . ." He knew that he would _never_ be able to leave Jemima so far behind, especially in their current situation . . . would he?

"You and Jemima are lucky," she murmured, a tiny hint of jealousy in her voice. "You'll never have to worry about either of you moving." The way of life within the Jellicle Tribe was that some cats lived in houses with humans, while others lived permanently among the junk heaps as strays. Misto and Jemima both fell under the second category, rendering Victoria's words true. The ivory queen also lived in the junkyard, but the same could not be said for Plato.

Misto cast his eyes downward, not sure what to say to console her.

Suddenly, however, Victoria looked up. "But something tells me everything's going to be all right in the end," she mewed in a strangely light, carefree voice. Her tail, which had been swishing around lazily behind her, accidentally brushed Misto's.

The tuxedo tom started a tiny bit and glanced at Victoria just in time to see her turn her head in the opposite direction, her cheeks tinted pale pink. He averted his eyes also, a twinge of embarrassment tugging at him as well. But then the feeling of being watched prickled at his pelt; looking up again, he found himself staring directly into Victoria's crystal blue eyes.

A couple moments passed, and neither of them moved. Misto desperately wished he knew what she was thinking, for her gaze, though it was strangely captivating, betrayed nothing. Even though it was something he always hated to do, he tried to reach into her thoughts with his mind, but she was somehow managing to keep everything carefully censored from him. _Probably just as well_, he told himself.

Neither cat blinked, and neither spoke. However, they both jumped when a young voice cried, "Mommy!" Theseus had gotten one of his tiny paws stuck in the weaving of the cat basket.

"Oh dear," Victoria murmured, hurrying towards the back of the trunk to help free him. She glanced back at Misto and said in an almost conceding voice, "Jemima's going to be missing you . . ."

He realized with a jolt that she was right. He hopped down to the ground and said, "Yes . . . I suppose she will . . . bye, Vicky . . ." He then scurried back to their den, for the first time noticing how fast his heart was beating . . .

When he stepped back in, for a fraction of a heartbeat he was almost sure he had seen Victoria sitting where his mate should have been. But when he blinked, the vision was gone, revealing that Jemima was sitting on the ground and leaning against an old swatch of corkboard. She looked impatient, worried, and a bit panicked at the same time. "Tugger dropped by," she greeted him, obviously trying to sound casual.

"Oh lord," Misto muttered, remembering his "conversation" with the maned tom.

"He said – and I quote – 'Congrats on getting knocked up'," Jemima continued, a bit of a bewildered expression on her face. "I hope that was a compliment."

Misto shrugged and opened his mouth to voice his opinion, but Jemima stopped him before he could say anything.

"So, perhaps you'd like to tell me where you were?" she asked, her voice tone almost accusing. She sounded like a mother questioning her teenage daughter as to why she had been out past her curfew.

"I . . . I just went for a walk," he told her, a bit apprehensive about the slightly suspecting note in her voice. "You were still asleep when I woke up, so – "

"Did you stop to talk to anyone on the way?" she interrupted.

"Well, Tugger," he answered a bit uneasily.

"And?" She gave him a hard look.

"And Vic . . . toria," he admitted, catching himself and referring to her by her full name just in time. "But, Jemmy, she – "

"Did you, now?" She didn't sound surprised; rather, she sounded quite hostile. "Well, I'm sure you two had an _enthralling_ conversation."

The undisguised bitterness in her voice was making Misto nervous. "No, honey, I was just walking by the car and she called me over," he explained in a rush.

"Oh? And what did she say?" she asked pointedly.

"She told me Plato's humans are moving!" he told her, wishing she would stop being so defensive. "What was I supposed to do, tell her to get over it and just keep walking?"

"No, but I would expect you to use your common sense!" She pushed herself to her paws as she spoke, glaring at him.

"Her mate is freaking _leaving_ and she has a month-old kitten!" he argued. "It should be _anyone's _common sense to comfort a queen who's going through that!"

"That wasn't what I meant!" she protested sharply.

"Then what the hell _do_ you mean?" he demanded.

"First of all," she hissed, "you do NOT use that kind of language with me! And second, you should know damn well what I mean!"

For Jemima to use such words was rare; for her to be so blatantly hypocritical was even rarer. Misto was a bit taken aback. "I don't! We didn't do ANYTHING!"

"Oh, really? Then apparently Tugger thinks there are two Mistoffeleeses running around the junkyard."

"Tugger? What's he got to do with it NOW?"

"He saw you with Victoria," Jemima hissed, her eyes narrowed to light brown slits. "And according to _him_, you two were about to kiss."


	7. Advice

**AY! Has it really been over three months? Where did the summer go? Wow, guys, I'm REALLY sorry for the überdelay! Please don't burn me at the stake! Just enjoy this chapter . . . if you can even remember where the story left off before that horrid pause . . .**

-x-X-x-

"WHAT?" At first, Misto was sure he'd heard wrong. "Why in the _world_ would Tugger say that?"

"He said you and Miss Priss were sitting side-by-side, staring at each other and leaning in!" Jemima recounted.

Misto froze, icy claws gripping him inwardly as he realized what the maned tom must have seen: that brief moment when brown eyes met blue ones, and matehood and loyalty had been forgotten . . . Was it possible that the two of them had been leaning in without even realizing it? As notorious as Tugger was for "enhancing" his stories with made-up details like that, Misto didn't doubt that he had been telling the truth that time. "Well . . ." He grappled for words to cover his hesitation. "Jemmy, it wasn't like that!"

"Really?" She arched one eyebrow. "What _was_ it like, then? I'm sure _your_ little alibi is _much_ more believable than his."

"Jemima!" he protested, still having no idea what had gotten into her. "You . . . you're going to believe that . . . that tomwhore over ME? Your MATE?"

"Misto, please!" she hissed. "And you think that just because you got me pregnant, it means we're _mates_?"

He laid his ears back. Her words stung, but she had a point. Despite the fact that she was carrying his kittens, Misto hadn't formally proposed to Jemima; therefore, the dark-colored calico's words held true. They _weren't_ officially mates. "Close enough!" he argued. "I mean, we might as well be!"

Suddenly, her ears drooped as well. "Then how come you haven't asked me?" she asked him sharply. "How do I know you _really_ care about me? From what I can tell, right now you still want to 'experiment' some more."

Misto fought to keep his jaw from dropping. "Jemmy! How can you even think like that? You KNOW I love you more than I can say, and that I only want the best for you and the kits! Don't you trust me?"

"Oh? And how do I know that now you're not just trying to make up for you _fainting_ when you found out I was having twins?"

He bit his bottom lip. "I . . . well . . . it just surprised me, that's all!" he tried to explain. "Besides, that was two weeks ago! And I wasn't even recovered from Alonzo nearly KILLING me! What–"

Jemima ignored him completely. Cutting him off, she continued, "Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to have the father of my kits, a tom who doesn't even have the guts to ask me to be his mate, FAINT after being told how many kittens are in the litter? And in front of Jelly and Victoria and Munkustrap and even his own mother! And all _you_ can do is kiss up to me by saying you love me! You can say that as much as you want, Misto, but how will I ever know it's true?"

His ears were now fully flattened against his head, feeling more than a little intimidated by her outbursts. "But . . . but . . . Jemmy . . ." He wracked his brain for words to use in his defense, but found none, knowing he was fighting a losing battle.

"Out of excuses, Mister Mistoffelees?" she sneered, her arms folded across her chest and a cruel, mocking gleam in her eyes.

Misto backed away from her. This new tone to her voice was frightening him. "I . . . I . . . I'll be back later," he excused himself quickly, scrambling out of the den without another word.

Once he was sure he was safe, he looked around, not sure what to do. Perhaps he could go to Victoria . . .? He shook his head the moment the thought entered his mind. That would only create more problems. Heaving a sigh, he turned and trudged towards the two figures that sat upon the old tire: Demeter and Munkustrap.

The tabby, who sat with his arm around Demeter's waist, looked up as he approached. "Good morning, Misto," he greeted him. He tipped his head to one side as he observed, "You look a bit put out . . . what's wrong?"

The tuxedo tom cast his gaze towards the ground. "It's Jemima," he mumbled. "She's mad at me."

"What happened?" Demeter asked. The gold-and-ebony queen sat with her head resting on Munkustrap's shoulder and both arms gently wrapped around him. Behind them, their tails were twisted together.

"Well . . ." He sighed before he began: "Earlier this morning I was out for a walk and I stopped to talk to Victoria . . . well, actually, _she_ stopped me so she could talk to _me_. Anyway, Tugger saw us and told Jemima about it." He decided to leave out the exact details. "You know how his stories are . . . so now, Jemmy's under the impression that Victoria and I were going to kiss." Drawing in a breath, he continued: "I tried to tell her that that's not what happened, but she wouldn't listen. So she's managed to convince herself that I don't really love her because 'I still want to "experiment" some more' and because I haven't proposed . . . yet." He hastily tacked on the last word. "And _now_ she's upset because I passed out when we found out she was having twins!" He looked up at the two cats despairingly. "What do I do?"

Munkustrap gazed at Demeter for a moment before turning to the smaller tom with a quiet sight. "Misto . . . the simple fact of pregnancies is that queens get emotional. One moment they'll be fine, and the next they'll want to claw your ears off. They'll rant about why they hate you, and then they'll be fine again. Then they'll suddenly break down into tears, and if you don't comfort them, they get angry and the whole thing starts over again." The tabby spoke from experience, having stuck with Demeter both while she was expecting Misto and then Electra, the latter having been fathered by Munkustrap himself. He took a breath. "Queens are more sensitive than toms, you see. And you passing out really struck a chord with Jemima. Right now, her emotions are playing heck with her, what with the development of your kittens, so just be patient with her. If she calls you a 'rotten bastard'–" he cast an apologetic glance at Demeter – "just accept it. She doesn't mean it. She's just nervous, and she's probably honestly terrified as well. And now she believes that you don't care, along with the fact that there are _two_ kittens steadily growing inside of her. Without anyone there for her, she has no idea how to respond to what's going on with her. She's got a lot on her mind right now, Misto. Like I said, be patient. She'll be back to normal soon."

By this point, Misto's head was spinning. He never would have guessed that so much could be going on at once for Jemima. Although he now understood why she was acting the way she was, he wasn't any less anxious about the remaining month ahead of them. He gulped. "O-okay . . ." he said uneasily. "But . . . what do I do now?"

"Go back to her," Munkustrap urged him. "Take whatever she throws at you. If she wants comfort, then comfort her. Don't let her words upset you. Just remember that she doesn't mean any of it. Trust me, Misto." He smiled warmly, pulling Demeter closer to him.

Misto nodded, still a bit uneasy as he began backing away. "Thanks, I guess," he mumbled, turning around to head back to his den.

As he approached, the faint, yet distinct sound of crying was audible. His ears drooped as he padded inside. "Jemmy?" he called softly.

Sure enough, Jemima was now huddled in a far corner, her sides heaving unsteadily as she drew in a series of sniffly breaths. Her ears twitched as she heard his voice, but other than that, she made no acknowledgement of his presence until she spoke. "I-I'm sorry," she whimpered. "I . . . don't know what came over me . . . please don't hate me . . . don't leave again . . . I need you here . . . _they_ need you . . ."

He blinked, remembering what Munkustrap had said, and slowly padded over to her, concern flickering in his gaze. "It's okay," he soothed her, his voice gentle and soft as he crouched down beside her. "I could _never_ hate you. You know I couldn't." He put a comforting arm around her as he told her, "I'm here for all three of you."

She looked up at him, her eyes glistening and the fur on her cheeks wet with tears. Their eyes met, and Misto could see the fear, sadness, and despair mingling with and threatening to take over the trust and love in Jemima's light brown gaze. Then, she suddenly threw her arms around him, burying her face in his black fur. "Thank you for putting up with me," she sniffled. "It's like . . . like I have no clue what I'm going to do or say next . . ."

"Ssh." He shushed her as if she was a crying kitten. "It's okay," he repeated. Then, it was as if Munkustrap's words came tumbling out of his mouth. "I know you don't mean it . . ."

"I don't," she whimpered, "I really don't . . . I'd _never_ say anything like that and _mean_ it, Misto . . ." She pressed close to him, resting her head on his white chest as the tears began to dry.

"I know, I know," he reiterated softly to her, keeping his arm around her comfortingly. "I forgive you." He used his other paw to tip her head up so that their eyes met again. "Do _you_ forgive _me_?"

She held his gaze. "Misto . . . there's nothing to forgive you for. None of this is your fault." She sighed. "But if you insist, of course I do . . . I could never stay mad at you."

"I love you," he reminded her softly, his eyes continuing to gaze into hers. He gently rested a paw on her belly as he continued, "And I'll be here for you no matter what."

She placed one paw on top of his. "I love you too," she murmured quietly. She pressed herself even closer to him, still holding his gaze. "I love you . . . so much, Misto . . ."

The two of them continued to gaze at each other for a silent moment. Then, at the same time, they both began to lean in, and their lips met halfway. They remained locked like that for a few moments before Jemima broke off, sniffling. She rested her head on his fluffy chest again. "Misto," she whimpered, "I . . . I'm scared . . ."

Misto gently began stroking her soft fur. "What of?" he asked softly.

"Everything," she whimpered in response. "There's so much that could go wrong . . . the kittens could come too early, or too late . . . or they could be stillborn . . . or there could be too much blood and . . ." She trailed off and looked up at Misto through watery eyes. "Misto, what if I _die_?" she asked, her voice breaking.

"You won't die," Misto vowed softly. "Don't think like that, Jemmy."

There was a short pause. But then Jemima mewed, "What if they don't like me? . . . Or what if they don't like you?"

Misto sighed. "Jemima. Stop."

She glanced down at her belly, where both of their paws still rested. "Okay," she mumbled. "Sorry." Her head came to rest once again on his chest. After a moment, she ventured, "So, Plato's leaving?"

Relieved at the subject change, Misto nodded. "Yeah . . . his humans are moving to Newcastle," he recalled, carefully refraining from mentioning Victoria.

Jemima's ears pricked. "Newcastle?" she repeated. "That's really far . . . poor Victoria."

"Mm-hmm," Misto agreed, though he said nothing else for fear that whatever he said would be the wrong thing.

Suddenly, Jemima's head snapped up. She locked eyes with him. " 'Mm-hmm' _what_?" she pressed, a sudden accusing tone in her voice. "Don't you have anything to add?"

Misto stiffened a bit, not realizing that she could change moods so quickly. "Uh . . ." he scrabbled for something to say.

But before he could think of anything, Jemima's expression brightened. "I'm just kidding," she told him with a little giggle. "You make the cutest faces." She leaned up slightly and pecked him on the lips.

It took a moment for Misto to realize what she had done, but when he did, a smile tugged at his lips. "Don't do that to me," he scolded teasingly, a little purr in his voice. He ducked his head to nuzzle her affectionately.

She just giggled again. "I love you too." Laying her head back on his chest fluff, she relocated the paw on top of Misto's to the spot next to it, and both young cats spent a moment feeling the movement of the half-developed kittens inside of her. Suddenly, feeling a tiny thump against his paw pad, Misto looked at Jemima and grinned a bit. "I think one of the little rascals just kicked me," he laughed.

Jemima nodded. "I felt that too," she commented. "They _are_ little rascals . . . definitely your kittens." She grinned up at him.

"You know it," he purred teasingly.

Another little giggle issued from her. A few more moments passed before her jaws gaped in a yawn. "You're a great pillow, you know," she murmured sleepily, pressing herself even closer to him so that their fur was blended together. "And you're so warm . . ." Her eyelids began to droop.

Smiling softly, Misto gently wound both of his arms around her. A faint purr was audible from Jemima as she let her eyes close the rest of the way. Soon, her breathing evened out as she fell asleep in his arms . . .


End file.
